


The 29th of January

by MiladyPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dogs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyPheonix/pseuds/MiladyPheonix
Summary: A Fic for The 29th of January aka meet your soul mate day. Thank Tumblr & Kitten-kin!





	The 29th of January

It was the 29th of January and a Tuesday, John Hated Tuesdays. There was a camaraderie to Miserable Mondays, Wednesday was the midpoint, the point of no return on route to the weekend, Thursday had the weekend within sight and none of Friday’s get-me-out-of-here anxiety, who didn’t like Fridays! Tuesday’s only saving grace was that it wasn’t Monday. John’s mind rambled horribly since he'd got back so he took it for regular walks letting the monotony of his new step, step-thump, step, step-thump cadence calm his mind. Two more days... Thursday, he’d always liked a Thursday and he could start an early weekend as a dead man.

Day 29, he would be getting a pointless 30day chip tomorrow at his NA meeting which he would have to attend or Mycroft would cut him off again and Mummy would be notified. He had confirmed his attendance with his brother, so much for anonymous, and was headed to Bart’s where Molly had some tests he was permitted to assist with. The set up would be long and tedious but he would swing past the morgue before he hit the lab and run his posthumous hematoma experiment first.

John was almost out of the park, he’d done two laps today hoping it would help but now he just wanted to be home. “John" He heard a voice say his name but it was a common enough name. “John Watson” Definitely calling him now so he halted and turned to see a man approaching. Civilian, out of shape, familiar. “Mike, Mike Stamford" Yes, Mike from “We were at Bart's together" Mike from Bart's, he should be happy to see Mike from Bart’s but he just couldn’t be. The conversation drizzled onto coffee and he zoned out for a while remembering when he had a future in medicine, when he had a future but then Mike brought him back from his growled responses with “You’re the second person to say that to me today”... Was there someone else in London like him?

Sherlock was on fire, definitely having an up day as he ran the last of slides under the microscope and definitely green pigment, Molly would bring him coffee shortly and he had just cracked that cold case though the morgue results would be needed to confirm. He grabbed a pipette as the door opened because people were less inclined to question his presence when he was busy but it was just Mike who strolled in with some dull friend of his from the good old days. Mike might have a phone though so he can text Lestrade and avoid going all the way to the Yard.

John had an unobtrusive look around as someone was busy in the lab while Mike gave him a tour. It all looked so different now and he would have had to catch up on so many new things, field medicine was archaic but there was comfort in its simplicity. This was the other him apparently and John didn’t look twice until the man spoke and asked Mike for his phone. The voice was deep and cultured but long lines in a tailored suit impressed him as he handed over his phone. Mike really thought this man would share a flat with him.

Sherlock was caught off guard when the man, John, offered his mobile. Sherlock observed this new person and information flooded his mind as he took the phone. Stance, Tan, Grooming, Stick but standing. He gave the device in his hands a quick once over. Clearly the invalided war hero disagreed with his addict brother, but this might work well as John would motivate his sobriety and a doctor could be handy though the flatness in his eyes... He would need to keep John alive if he was going to help Sherlock with the work. Just had to confirm his deductions first, then get moved in! Mrs Hudson couldn’t complain about a doctor And an army veteran as his flatmate! John was perfect.

He was a nightmare, what was Mike thinking... John had been floored by Sherlock’s deductions and stood stumped as Sherlock whirled out the lab in a flurry of information, riding crops, and finally an address... did he just wink?! Shifting his weight John followed Mike out again and headed home; to his dull bedsit, his breakfast apple for dinner, his laptop, and his gun. He looked around the boring beige walls and realised he was smiling, Sherlock was not dull. A bit not good as his mum would say but definitely not dull. John decided he would grab this coincidental lifeline, Baker street, tomorrow. If it all went horribly he could always change his mind.

The damn chip weighed a ton in his pocket, John didn’t know he was in NA and he had no idea how he would react. The taxi pulled up just in time and Mrs Hudson was there to greet them, the woman was a saint and John seemed pleased with everything except, A Mess, yes by military standards the place was a mess and if he wanted a military man to cohabitate he would have to adjust. John settled into the wingback with his back to the entrances... He was either already very comfortable here or his self-preservation and combat instincts were history. A case came up so John would have time to get himself settled. Then again the limp, John didn't run anymore so maybe that’s what he needed, for his body to override his mind and that would be one less thing plaguing him.

Trouble, John could do trouble. He thought that the bullet had taken that away and while it might not be the army or a foreign country trouble at home was the same so he raced through dark side streets after an insane man to catch a murderer. After his very polite rebuff and his walking stick in storage the days blurred at Sherlock’s side until it was almost all over, Again. John had witnessed men die, as their medic and their captain he had held it as his duty to stay with his men if they were dying but his gun was in his hand before he knew it. He would not loose another man, not tonight and not Sherlock who had saved him; cured him, given him purpose, and his life back! He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and squeezed on the exhale.

Sherlock sat on the tail of the ambulance and ignored his shaking hands, the bullet must have passed within inches from him but Lestrade still wanted answers. He explained who the shooter was and scanned the darkness for suspects until his eyes found John standing at ease between two cars and everything lit up in his mind. He could see John, the military crack shot who had put a bullet passed his shoulder and into a man’s heart without a twitch... or Sherlock himself would be injured or dead. John, who he had to protect now so he brushed Lestrade off and breezed past his brother before they made their escape, his extraordinary John.

*12 months later*

The damn bloodhound was only good at finding the trouble John growled to himself as he stitched, he'd managed to catch most of the trouble himself but Sherlock still had a concussion and now John was a Veterinarian as he stitched up a thin slice in the dog's side. He still remembers the day Sherlock brought him home. “Calcutta. Wait, you liked The Perishers so you’re naming your tracker after a dog with no sense of smell.” They had both laughing and the dog seemed to join in but now the dog just whined slightly as John stitched up shaved skin. “Poor beast, we'll have you back to himself soon, almost done boy" The dog was enormously loyal to Sherlock and John was grateful but he had eight stitches himself and didn’t want to consider what may have happened had he not been there.

*6 months later*

Sherlock came come from a week in Belarus where an idiot had killed his girlfriend and would shortly be hanged, never to pass on his unfortunate genetics. He found two sleeping veterans in his lounge as John lay on the couch and a gorgeous German Shepard lay on the floor beside him. He set about making tea loudly enough to wake John, as he filled the kettle he remembered the discussion of a few months ago. “I can take care of myself and what if he bullies Calcutta?!” Sherlock hadn’t liked the idea of some aggressive beast harrying his faithful hound. “He will not bully Calcutta, they are all team players and Pax was attached to my unit for a while. You need protection Sherlock, someone there when I can’t be" Captain Watson had been very firm about it and Pax, silly name for war dog, was clearly settled in. Calcutta watched him from the lounge but Pax now stood in the door way actively observing the way John did all the time too. “I see I have another Veteran in the house now” Sherlock quipped to John as Pax's tail brushed his legs, his escort saw him safely to the couch then curled at John’s feet while John yawned and scrubbed his face. “I’ve trained him to your scent my LovelyLove, if I’m not around he’ll stick to you like glue.

*On the next 29th of January”

“I thought Pax was retired” Sherlock was brushing distinctive guard hairs off his beloved Belstaff for the thousandth time. “Pax has retired Sherlock, into your employ just like me" John kissed his sulking sweetie. “My employees never listen to me!” Sherlock had taken to carrying a clothes brush in his coat and had been frustrated but very impressed when John had barked a command and Pax had bolted Sherlock’s side and taken their assailant to the ground in seconds. John had explained that Pax knew Sherlock was to be protected but the orders came from John. When the doorbell rang Sherlock started up from absentmindly scratching Pax's scarred ears. “That'll be Brom." John smirked, he would never buy Sherlock’s claim that his “badger hound" could investigate small spaces for them. “Dushunds are very cute Love!” John called after rapid footsteps. “Anton Chekhov would agree with you" Sherlock quipped returning “But Brom will work just as hard and Pax or Callie" The dushund snoozed in Sherlock’s arms and John had to smile at the smitten look on Sherlock’s face, working or not Brom was clearly home to stay.

*6 months later*

John and Sherlock sat in the lounge with their small pack, Mrs Hudson had come up for tea and her enormous black poodle had stayed with the mob all piled together before the fire. “Sherlock” John sounded stunned and Sherlock's eyes snapped to his. “The Queen has a pregnant Corgi and we’ve been offered a puppy from the litter” Sherlock rose to study the message. “John, can we? A Pembroke Welsh Corgi is much more interesting than a Knighthood!” John looked into sparking eyes. “I didn’t think we could refuse and I would never refuse you Love. We'll send our acceptance and our thanks, the litter is due in a few months, quite an honour I’m sure"

*The next 29th of January *

The corgi was an adorable creature which they had almost lost to Mrs Hudson on first sight. The little one slept on Calcutta most evenings and Royal gifts come with health plans so they need never worry about medical expenses for the pup, Rose, so named for her reddish patches was quickly a feature on everyone’s laps and when they took the pack for a walk though the park in the evenings she rode in Sherlock’s pocket until she couldn’t fit anymore. They made a sight, John felt, the mix match of dogs only emphasised the mismatch of himself and Sherlock but his family was just perfect, all four legs and fur.


End file.
